


how many stars will I need to hang around me to finally call it heaven?

by completist



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Haikyuu!! Manga Spoilers, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Time Skip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:00:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29792256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/completist/pseuds/completist
Summary: He cannot recall when they had gotten so close, when he had thought it would be good to keep being close to him, and maybe that’s how it’s always going to be with Hinata—as bright and warm as the sun—that no one, not even Oikawa Tooru, can stop orbiting around.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 3
Kudos: 30
Collections: Haikyuu Writer Jukebox Round One - Mitski





	how many stars will I need to hang around me to finally call it heaven?

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is written for Haikyuu Jukebox Round 1 - Mitski, inspired by the song Remember My Name.
> 
> tysm to the mods for leading this event! it has been really fun discovering Mitski's discopgraphy and listening to her songs  
> (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

The hotel room he’s staying at is cold, bland, unforgiving.

Tooru listens to the hum of the air conditioning and hears continuous, solid thumps of the ball on their side of the court instead. His body aches and his fingertips still tingle from the repeated impacts of the ball, his palm still feeling the heat of rubber against his skin.

 _It was just a practice game_ , he keeps telling himself. The team says so too, and Coach Blanco even looked satisfied at the results of the game.

But they lost.

Tooru was the starting setter and they _lost._

He knows he shouldn’t feel too bad. They performed well, everyone says so, especially given that this is his first game as starting setter against one of the most powerful teams in the Brazillian Men’s Volleyball Super League. Still, it stings. To realize once again that he is still far, too far, from where he’s aiming to be.

Being the starting setter for CA San Juan used to feel like such a big deal, such a big challenge to overcome. But like all things, the challenge came and went—leaving him to face harder ones, feeling like he barely had the time to savour the present. Tooru doesn’t resent it—far from it, in fact—but failure has a habit of planting frustrations, and Tooru knows that his heart is tilled enough to bear its seeds.

Slowly, he stands up. The cold walls he’s been sitting against in the corner of the room is making him feel uncomfortable, restless in his own skin. There are more pains in his body now than last week when they took a break before traveling to Brazil. A sign of a good game, a sign that he worked hard.

Tooru wonders when he will finally accept that there will be moments where working hard should be enough.

The small luggage he bought with him is hanging open in one of the chairs, books on Spanish and English peeking out from the array of sportswear and clothes he bought. His backpack is leaning against the same chair, and his laptop resting on the table but still off. He should study more, Tooru thinks, polish his Spanish and English; he should call Iwa-chan, or chat a little with mom and dad, maybe.

But he didn’t. Tooru walks to the windows instead. It’s still early, barely eight in the evening, and there’s no practice game tomorrow to prepare and condition himself for. He lifts the curtains covering the window and looks out at the beach, wondering if, should he try to look hard enough, he would see Hinata again learning how to play with the sand and fly against the wind.

How selfish and stupidly vain, to lick a taste of home from the very person whose spike closed the path he was once running on.

But _oh,_ how wonderful, to feel like home again in Hinata’s smile.

Five minutes later, he slips out of his hotel room and down to the lobby. For a moment, he considers going back after seeing how packed the beach seems to be. There are so many people, all enamoured with the sand, the beach, _volleyball_. It’s pretty similar back home, he notes, volleyball continues to earn popularity in Japan—be it in schools, professional leagues, or national sports games. But the sense of camaraderie here is different, and Tooru wonders if it's just him, or if volleyball feels more intimate now more than it ever did before; now, when he’s so far away from home.

Humid, summer air hits him, and Tooru already dreads the sweat clinging to his skin and making him feel sticky. But he sees him anyway, between the gaps in the crowd, off the ground and reaching for the ball.

_Hinata Shouyou._

Tooru moves to navigate through the sea of people, slipping between warm bodies and enthusiastic cheering, looking for a good spot to watch Hinata. Once or twice a bottle of beer was nearly spilled in front of his shirt, grains of sand already sticking between his toes and on the pad of his feet. Tooru shakes the flip flops he’s wearing just to get rid of some of the sand.

When he finds a spot, a little to the side of Hinata’s opponent—having a perfect view of the game, just with the slight bias of seeing more of Hinata’s movements and coordination with his teammate, Tooru settles himself.

At least three other games are going on, but Tooru focuses his attention on Hinata’s game alone. He had tried beach volleyball with him, two nights ago, and Tooru has been acquainted with exactly how unforgiving the sand can be, how strong the winds can be, enough to change the course of the entire game. It’s fitting, he thinks, that this is how Hinata chooses to train himself.

The heels of Hinata’s feet dig deep before jumping high and Tooru’s breath catches in his throat. His eyes follow the line of his body, arms pulling back before hitting the ball with a force strong enough to send it ricocheting to the other side of the court along with the wind, the sand bursting at its impact.

 _Powerful,_ Tooru thinks, _breathtaking._

Tooru crosses his arms as the game continues, eyes trained on and studying the court like he would when he watches tapes of the Argentine National Team. All previous frustrations are forgotten, even for a moment, as he takes in the technique, the movements, the subtle shifts and tells in the players’ bodies.

And when Hinata moves to set for his teammate, for the first time since the end of their practice game, Tooru smiles.

Spiking the ball Hinata had set when he played with him two nights ago had felt almost cathartic— refreshing in a way volleyball hasn’t been since he decided to fly across the world and play in a foreign league. Watching him now, seeing the way he angles his body, the shifts in his arms and legs… Tooru suddenly _misses_ playing with him, misses all the games they could’ve played together before, and then some more should they ever play on the same side of the court in the future.

How odd, to miss something he had never thought of until now.

The game finishes with the umpire’s whistle breaking through the cheers of the crowd. Hinata is celebrating with his teammate, hugging and laughing as they trudge away from the court. Tooru feels his own lips curve into a smile as he watches, basking in the warmth and joy of someone else even for a moment.

And then Hinata turns, their eyes meeting. He sees happiness bloom in his face that, for a split second, Tooru wonders if he should walk away.

Everything comes back then, in full-force. The frustrations, the little things that made today just a little hard, a little suffocating: the ill-time blocks, the failed digs and spikes, the way his fingers slipped before sending the ball to the hitter. And then there’s the spilled toothpaste on the sink, the wrinkles on the jersey he was sure he folded to keep it smooth, the ink of his pen bleeding on the next page of his Spanish book when it has never done that before.

And then there’s Hinata, smiling at him like he’s the best thing that keeps happening to him since they met here in Brazil two nights ago.

“Oikawa-san!”

Hinata is suddenly in front of him—brighter than the moon above, and wilder than the waves crashing against the shore. Tooru doesn’t know where to look, doesn’t want to look at anywhere but Hinata, at the bead of sweat rolling down from his temples to the curve of his cheeks, at the way his hands grasp the ball in front of him like it’s something sacred, at the way his eyes shine like—

Like seeing Tooru again makes everything so much better.

The wind blows, and Tooru shivers as Hinata offers the ball up to him. “Toss to me again?”

A laugh bubbles up in his throat, making its way past his lips that all Tooru can do is hide behind his hand. He shakes his head. Hinata makes it all so simple, so easy— even when everything feels more complicated and nuanced than Tooru sometimes would’ve liked.

“Why don’t you take me out for dinner first, huh, shrimp?”

And then Hinata is tucking the ball on his arm, offering him his hand with the same ease as when he smiles at him. “Sure! Let’s go, then! I got my salary yesterday, so it's my treat.”

Tooru smiles back, chooses to feel all the frustrations again before letting them go when his hand meets Hinata’s. He’s warm, and his hand is a little smaller than his. But they fit, the spaces between his fingers slotting so well with Hinata’s fingers. The way Hinata’s thumb rubs the back of his hand is a comfort previously unknown, but something Tooru already knows he would crave—like a cool, Sunday morning, like the times he and his mom would cook a simple dinner after her nine-to-five work, like the times his father taught him how to drive with Iwa-chan teasing him at the backseat.

They walk back to the same restaurant they ate at before. Hinata is still holding his hand when they order their food, letting go of him only when they sit on the opposite sides of the table.

Tooru wonders if he should talk, if should ever think back to his day. But his heart pours before his mind stops racing, and his lips spill the words he’s been bottling up until it bursts.

“We lost earlier at a practice game,” Tooru begins, looking out to the window on his left. The beach in this area is relatively clear of volleyball players, although the shore is still filled with people. His worries seem infinitesimal now, fleeting, compared to the grand scheme of things. “For a second, I was worried— _frustrated_ at how it turned out.”

He turns to Hinata again, “After seeing you play... I feel better now.”

“Then toss to me again, grand king!”

Tooru laughs, a full-belly laugh that shakes his body and lightens his heart. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Why not?”

“I intend to win against all of you.”

And then Hinata is taking his hand again, cradling it between both of his own. “I’m really happy you’re here, Oikawa-san. I’m glad I could make you feel better, somehow.”

Tooru feels heat warming the spaces where they touch, traveling up the length of his arm, diverging to his chest and cheeks. The beating of his heart is loud in his ears, and Tooru wonders if Hinata can hear it, what’s with the small space between them— so small that Tooru tries to think back when they had gotten so close only to come up empty.

He cannot recall when they had gotten so close, when he had thought it would be good to keep being close to him. And maybe that’s how it’s always going to be with Hinata—who is as bright and warm as the sun—that no one, not even Oikawa Tooru, can stop orbiting around.

“Make sure to hit all my sets with everything you’ve got, shrimp.”

“I will!”

**Author's Note:**

> come hang out with me on twitter at @completist_  
> ٩(｡•́‿•̀｡)۶


End file.
